


Good Girls Are Quiet

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: :), F/F, NSFW, Praise Kink, RA Eve, good girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: My writers’ group had a prompt, a little while ago, where Eve is the RA of a dorm hall and Villanelle is a noisy, problematic resident. Even though I was late to the group, they encouraged me to pick up the prompt.Note: Chapter 3 is where the smut is.@ my group, if you read this, I appreciate you all so much. Thank you for your support and friendship.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

Eve sets a cold brew on her desk and slumps into her chair. She sighs and lays her head against her desk for a moment, wondering why she took this job and whether the waived housing fees are worth it—are worth it for her to be drinking her third cold brew at 5:20pm on a weeknight, as though it’s the only thing that can keep her going. As though she depleted the energy from within herself, months ago, and now she is only _reaching._ Reaching _always_.

She sighs once more, closing her eyes and lifting her head from her desk. She promises herself that she will start her biochemistry assignment when she opens her eyes, and as long as there are minimal interruptions, she will be okay. Midnight is never as far away as it feels.

Her eyes finally open, and a boy is standing in front of her. His eyes are wide and his forehead is visibly sweaty.

_Just perfect_.

“What can I help you with?” she asks, not even forging a smile because she left _that_ act behind, back in September.

“N-Noise, I have a noise complaint.” His cheeks turn red.

She wonders why he is so anxious. “What room?”

“302.”

“Can you describe the issue?” she asks, clicking her pen and grabbing a pad of sticky notes so she can log the issue after supplying the warning to the residents in question.

“There’s—it’s—I think you should just go up and listen. I ca—I can’t.”

He bolts to the door, and Eve notices his backpack. He is ready to go—to spend time _wherever_ , until the issue is resolved.

She takes her first sip of the cold brew, admiring the strength of the brew, and makes her way up to 302.

The sound of girls ( _plural_ ) moaning assaults her ears from at least five doors down.

She gets closer and listens for a moment, wondering if she will be able to distinguish how many voices of how many girls there are, exactly.

She hears a moan. Followed by a spank. Followed by a wailing cry (from the spank, presumably). And then a yelp from another voice. And someone else commanding “ _Take it!_ ”.

And oh—oh _no_. When someone cries _“Daddy!_ ” Eve can’t tolerate it anymore. She gasps on behalf of herself and all of the nearby residents, and then she pounds on the door with five harsh knocks.

The knocks are ignored and she hears a deafening spank and someone moaning _“Shit!”_.

Eve blushes and her mouth falls open at the desperation of the cry. How explicit and uncomfortable this all feels . . .

She knocks again, this time calling, “This is the RA! Open the door!”

The room quiets and Eve hears someone treading over to the door.

It swings open and— _Jesus, fuck_. The most beautiful girl opens the door. She has blonde, slightly disheveled hair and wears a silk, blue robe. Her eyes are predatory and brown. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with the intensity of . . . _whatever_ was going on, a moment ago. And her red lipstick is vibrant, if not a little smudged, but compliments the rosiness of her cheeks.

“What’s the issue?” the girl demands.

“I—There’s—Someone made a noise complaint. I’m Eve, your RA.” Eve feels her face still warm and assumes she is still blushing.

“Ah yes, Eve. I believe we met at the start of school. I’m Villanelle.” Villanelle leans against the doorframe and trails her eyes over Eve, especially at the deep pink blush on her cheeks.

Eve doesn’t remember meeting her, but she doesn’t understand how she could forget, either.

“I’m going to keep this simple,” Eve starts, straightening her posture and gesturing with her hands, while she speaks. “Usually, a noise complaint occurs because people don’t realize how thin the walls actually are. In this case, I could hear your . . . _interactions_ from down the hall. Someone complained to me, and they were quite uncomfortable. I’m not trying to tell you what you can or can’t do with . . .” she accidentally trails off, unsure of how to word it.

“With my body?” Villanelle asks.

“Yes. I’m not trying to tell you what to do with your body,” Eve inhales deeply, not realizing she lost some air, on that one, “I’m just asking you to be mindful of your hallmates.”

“Hmm,” Villanelle says, eyes trailing up and to the left, while she ponders. “I’m not sure how else to say this, Eve. I’m going to be honest with you, okay?”

Eve nods. She pushes a curl behind her ear.

Villanelle watches her move the pretty ringlet curl behind her ear, but doesn’t miss a beat when it’s her turn to speak.

“I don’t know if I can keep them quiet.” Villanelle raises her eyebrow. “Even if I could, I don’t know if that is my _job_. You know what I mean? I want them to feel good. Part of feeling good is being _expressive_ , yes?”

“I don’t think—”

Eve is interrupted.

“—But I know what _your_ job is. You keep the dorm safe. And I appreciate that, Eve. I _really_ do. But all of us, in this room,” she gestures, “are already safe. So, I think you should go back to your desk, where you can make sure that _everyone else_ is safe. Do you know what I’m saying?”

Eve feels hot in the face—this time with frustration. “I value safety, but I take noise complaints very seriously. Your fellow students have assignments and exams. They may be sick or need extra sleep. Noise is a safety issue, then, do _you_ know what I’m saying?”

Something about Eve’s lack of hesitation to argue . . . something about her powerful stance and her inability to be swayed is special—maybe new—to Villanelle. And her _hair_. Villanelle could get lost in her amazing hair.

“Do you really want to know what I think?” Villanelle asks, breaking herself from the trance.

“Not really. I—”

Interrupted _again_.

“I think that your job is so easy that you create these problems for yourself. To fend off the boredom of being an RA.”

The insult feels like a punch in Eve’s gut, after all the trouble she has been through, this semester. She remembers her cold brew and wants to go back downstairs, whether or not all of the girls in 302 will comply with the noise regulations.

Eve gets mad: not frustrated— _mad_ , mad. An overwhelming urge to see Villanelle behave bubbles up, and Eve prepares to defend herself against such a thoughtless accusation.

“I’ve dealt with three kitchen fires and two evictions, this semester. What have you dealt with?” She gestures inside of the room, “Those bitches?”

Villanelle gasps and her eyes go wide.

Eve ignores the gasp. “Don’t assume others’ jobs are easy, especially when you’re having sex on a weeknight while others are doing their homework or making an income for themselves. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, do you think you can keep the noise down? If not, then fine, I’ll report you to management. They’ll assess whether or not you may continue to live here.”

Villanelle wants to say a lot of things about the threat and about Eve’s assumption that she doesn’t work, but something leaves her mouth that she didn’t plan on. Something that came from seemingly nowhere.

“Do you, as the RA, want to find out if you would be able to keep _me_ quiet?” Villanelle asks. And god, she’s never been _this_ forward in her life. And that remark didn’t address any of the things Eve said. All it addressed was her sudden, yet growing desire to sleep with Eve.

Eve’s mouth falls open. Truthfully, yes. She suddenly imagines what it would be like to mess up the blonde’s hair, more, or trail the red lipstick further down her bottom lip than it already is.

Villanelle reads the shock on Eve’s face and immediately regrets her words, still not even knowing where they came from—still aware that she didn’t answer any of Eve’s concerns. She wonders if Eve will report her for harassment, among other things, now that she looks so appalled.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t—I’m not sure—I’m sorry,” Villanelle stutters, trying to correct what she just said, because _what the fuck_.

Eve takes a few moments of quiet before she decides something.

“It’s not that I’m shocked because I don’t _want_ to touch you,” Eve says, equally unsure of where this is all coming from. “It’s just that . . . I have decided that you’ll have to _earn_ it.”

Eve doesn’t know why, but she wants it. She wants Villanelle to earn it. She wants Villanelle beneath her. And she wants all the other girls to leave.

Villanelle feels small. Smaller than she’s ever felt in her life. And she wants to earn it. The need to be touched by Eve comes up, suddenly, and she doesn’t understand why she _needs_ to be in Eve’s hands.

“H-How do I earn it?” Villanelle asks, and it’s more needy and squeaky than she ever intended (assuming she ever intended _any_ of this).

Eve looks at her, long and hard. She wonders where the change in tone came from. She doesn’t look at all like the sassy girl who opened the door. Her eyes are no longer cold and commanding—they’re pleading.

“You could be the RA,” Eve says, standing taller, again. “You can see what it’s really like. You can find out for yourself that it’s tiring and not easy.”

Villanelle nods. “Okay, I think I can—”

“— _You can be my good girl_.”

Eve doesn’t know where it came from. It’s extremely wrong—no, but extremely _right,_ when it leaves her mouth.

Villanelle doesn’t know why, but the words hit her _everywhere_. Something about the way Eve said it makes her want to be a good RA. Something about it makes her want to give Eve a neck massage at the end of the night, exhaling, _“This job is so hard, I can see why you’re so stressed.”_ And something else about it makes her want to sit herself up on Eve’s desk, weak, vulnerable, and spread, so Eve can exalt her for what a pretty, good girl she really is.

“I—Yes,” Villanelle says, blushing.

“’Yes,’ you’ll be the RA, or ‘yes,’ you want to be . . . _my good girl_?” Eve asks, cautiously, almost whispering at the end.

Villanelle gasps at the repetition of those words. “Yes to both,” she chokes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle is on RA duty.

The arrangement is simple. Eve goes to her dorm to do her biochemistry assignment, like a normal, unbothered student. Villanelle sits at the RA desk and fulfills the RA duties.

Villanelle sits down at the RA desk. She smooths her hands over the black blazer she changed into, admiring her professional choice (especially in comparison to Eve’s turtleneck sweater) and scoops her hair into a low ponytail. _Professional_.

And then she waits.

Fifteen minutes tick past—just enough time to earn herself a pee break!

So she goes to the communal bathroom and pees, then redoes her ponytail and makes her way back to the desk.

She comes back to three students who are awaiting her return.

“Good evening,” she says, and she plops down in the chair and smooths her blazer over, again. “What can I help you with?”

A small girl with straight, brown hair looks at her. She is so small that she looks fifteen, Villanelle thinks, so maybe she graduated high school early.

“I—I have an issue with my noisy neighbor,” she tells Villanelle. She is a timid and visibly shaky.

Perfect. Villanelle is sure that she can take care of the noise complaint more gracefully than Eve.

“What room, and what is the issue?” Villanelle asks, smiling.

“280,” replies the girl.

“Thank you . . . what is your name?”

“Taylor.”

“Thank you, Taylor. I will handle this for you, immediately.”

Villanelle leaves the other two students to wait while she addresses the noise complaint.

She reaches room 280 and hears a couple arguing, on the other side of the door.

“Get the _fuck_ out of my room! Get the _fuck_ out of my life! I _fucking_ hate you!” yells the boy.

_Oh no_ , what is she supposed to say to them? Is she supposed to call somebody else? Like the police, or Eve’s manager?

She goes to knock on the door but stops when something hits the other side of the door.

“I said _get out_!” he yells, again.

Villanelle can’t tolerate any more of this, so she knocks loudly.

The boy opens the door and Villanelle sees that the girl he’s yelling at is curled up in the corner, hugging her knees to herself.

“What?” the boy asks Villanelle.

“My name is Villanelle. I’m the RA. I received a noise complaint, and it seems like—”

The door slams in her face.

It’s fine, she can handle this. She knocks again, this time louder.

He opens the door and she continues speaking.

“—It seems like you don’t know how the actual _fuck_ to treat women. Is there anything you want to say for yourself? Or will I—”

The door slams _again_.

Villanelle pulls the master key out of her blazer pocket and unlocks the door. Then, she kicks the door open and pummels him to the floor, holding the key over his neck as though it is a knife.

“ _—Or will I have to teach you a better means of managing your anger issues?!_ ” Villanelle bellows in his ear.

The girl in the corner shudders in fear and tears fall onto her knees.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Villanelle says to her, softening her face and raising her eyebrows. “You can go, you can go!” She gestures towards the door with her eyes. “We will make sure he is never anywhere near you on this campus, _ever_ again.”

The girl scurries out of the dorm room and dashes down the hall.

***

Villanelle returns to the desk after taking down the boy’s information and giving him a stern (threatening) warning, and she sees four students waiting at the desk, upon her return.

_Oh_.

“I was next!!” says a young man, when a tall, blonde girl sweeps him out of the way to speak to Villanelle, first.

Villanelle sighs. “I’m sorry, but there is a line and you’ll have to—”

“Kitchen fire,” the blonde says.

And that’s all she needs to say. Because then, Villanelle is sprinting down to the communal kitchen, where she sees a thick cloud of smoke coming out of the doorway. She smashes the glass that protects the fire extinguisher and reaches the oven before a boy does, and it’s a _good thing_ , because he is holding a pot of cold water, and the fire appears to be an oil fire.

Villanelle scoots in like a superhero and extinguishes the fire, then scolds the group about the importance of keeping baking soda around when dealing with a significant amount of oil. She tells them never to use water on an oil fire.

And then she finds out that the big pot of oil was meant to cook some frozen fries, and she asks them why they didn’t just use a goddamn baking sheet and put the fries in the oven, for Christ’s sake, and she narrowly avoids the temptation to _strangle each of these children on site_.

***

Villanelle walks back towards the desk, and this time, there are _eight_ students awaiting her help.

She panics and stops in her tracks, hoping they won’t notice that she was on her way back. Her tear ducts immediately begin to produce tears, even if she doesn’t want to cry, and she feels that the only way she can survive this is by running away, altogether.

_But Eve_. She can’t run away if she wants Eve . . . and if she wants Eve to touch her. And also if she wants Eve to praise her—which she does.

She realizes she can go and get Eve, and Eve can help her, and maybe, if she is lucky, Eve will forgive her for failing.

So, that’s what she does.

She carries herself (albeit numbly) over to room 105. She sees Eve’s nameplate on the door and holds her breath and knocks—gently (the most gentle knocks of the evening).

Eve opens the door and doesn’t look surprised to see Villanelle, outside.

Villanelle takes one look at Eve and cries. She cries because she wasn’t good enough, because now Eve might not touch her, because now she’s not Eve’s “good girl,” and because the students at the desk are multiplying at an _exponential_ level, which (she thinks) is bullshit.

She cries and then she apologizes while crying.

“Eve, I’m so—I didn’t know that there were so many—I can’t keep—there was a kitchen fire— _domestic abuse_ and then—and I told the girl to run out the door—the fire was because of some stupid _french fries_ —there are _eight whole students_ waiting!—” and finally, she wails, “and _I’M NOT YOUR GOOD GIRL_ , _NOW!_ ” She covers her face with her hands and cries.

Eve sighs, unaffected, and pulls Villanelle’s head down to her level, hugging just her head. She pats the back of Villanelle’s head the same way that you would comfort a sobbing kindergartner.

“I’m sorry, Eve!” Villanelle whines, again.

Eve keeps patting her, then she lets go and waits for Villanelle to stand upright and look at her.

“I’m still—” Eve starts.

“ _—You’re not gonna touch me?!_ ” Villanelle wails, again, like a child.

“Don’t interrupt!” Eve scolds with a deafening roar.

Villanelle looks at Eve with her mouth wide open in shock, and with glossy eyes.

Eve sighs and says much more gently, “I’m still gonna touch you.”

Villanelle takes a gasping inhale, as relief washes over her.

Eve hesitates, nonetheless. “Do you still want me to . . .?”

“Yes! Yes . . . please!” Villanelle breathes, elated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.
> 
> A lot of inspo for the smut came from the wlw side of Tumblr. Tumblr banned kinky images and videos, but they cannot inhibit people from speaking utter filth. And I love that for us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy. This is..... dear lort.

Villanelle and Eve return to the RA desk together and take care of the eight—I’m sorry, now there are _ten_ students that need assistance.

They handle five students each, and take care of the noise complaints, a broken refrigerator, two residents who got locked out of their rooms, and one who came to the desk because there was a spider in his room (which Villanelle killed for him).

And then they are alone, and it is late, and nobody comes to the desk or floats through the halls.

Villanelle watches as Eve sits down at the RA desk and opens her biochemistry book again.

Villanelle scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to touch me, now?” she asks, and she can’t even help it when it sounds a bit like a whine.

“Not after you interrupted my homework so that I could help you with the RA duties,” Eve says, with her eyes fixed on the textbook. “Later, after our shift ends,” she promises.

Villanelle sighs and wonders if she _should_ get up on Eve’s desk and make herself irresistible, as she imagined, earlier, but she realizes there are other ways to go about this.

Since there is only one chair and Eve is occupying it, she sits herself down on Eve’s leg. At first, she is just perched on Eve’s knee. When no response comes from Eve, Villanelle starts grinding against Eve’s leg. And soon she’s mewing at a volume that only Eve can hear. The sound is soft and high.

Eve grows wet, but is appalled that this is happening at the desk where she works, and she only stops Villanelle when it becomes too much. That is, when Villanelle presses the tip of her finger into her mouth and reaches towards her own trousers, Eve grabs her wrist midair.

“Stop it!” Eve whispers, sternly.

“Eve,” she whines, and she keeps grinding, “you said you were going to touch me after I did the RA duties.”

Eve opens her mouth to argue and make Villanelle stop, altogether, but she loses her voice because Villanelle moans softly and bites her lower lip as she keeps moving; she is getting close.

It sends a chill down Eve’s spine and she almost moans, herself, and now she wants to fuck Villanelle. So, she jumps out of the desk chair.

Villanelle gets pushed onto her feet with a squeak and she grabs the desk to balance herself. She thinks she is going to cry because she left her own room to help Eve, and then she was a good, attentive RA. She did her best. She _deserves_ this. She decides she will tell Eve exactly what she thinks when—

“My room,” Eve says firmly, but it sounds so much like an offer. A handout.

Eve can’t believe she’s leaving the desk and risking her job, just because she wants to have sex. But she does, nonetheless, and she grabs Villanelle’s hand and guides Villanelle to her room.

Once inside, Eve takes a deep breath. She can’t believe herself when she sits on her own desk chair and pats her knee.

Villanelle’s heart throbs out of her chest as she sits on Eve’s leg, again, and gets back to the rhythm she established of grinding down on Eve’s leg. She’s even more whiny this time and holds onto Eve while squeaking, “Please,” into her ear, repeatedly, until Eve takes the hint and offers a finger for Villanelle to grind against.

“Are you always this needy?” Eve asks her. Villanelle only pants in response, so Eve asks again, “Are you always this desperate?”

Villanelle doesn’t know how to answer because _no_ , she is not usually needy, but for Eve she has a feeling she _always_ will be.

“Are you sorry that you said it was easy to be an RA, and that I was creating work for myself by responding to the noise complaint?”

Villanelle nods, and that’s not enough for Eve, so she takes her finger away.

Villanelle whines loudly. She doesn’t have enough friction, now, without the finger.

“Answer me!” Eve demands, frustrated.

“Yeah!” Villanelle cries, simply. She tries to gain more friction from Eve’s leg. Her eyes are screwed shut.

Eve can’t believe that she didn’t resolve this before bringing Villanelle back to her room, but she recalls herself being worked up and needy, in her own way, because of what Villanelle did to manipulate her.

She leaps out of the chair, again, and Villanelle slips off of her leg and lands on her feet.

Eve pushes Villanelle towards her own bed and bends her over it.

Villanelle, unbothered, wiggles her ass because she’s still desperate.

Eve spanks her once—hard.

Villanelle cries out and Eve covers Villanelle’s mouth, partway through.

“Don’t get a noise complaint. The other students are studying or sleeping, remember?” Eve asks.

Villanelle nods and presses her head against the bed. She really wants to come, whether it’s from more grinding or from Eve doing something different.

“I’m sorry that I said your job was easy and that you made up problems to keep yourself busy,” Villanelle rushes out.

“I . . . Good,” Eve says, stunned. “That’s very good. Thank you.”

Villanelle shudders and then asks, “So, will you fuck me?”

“Are you gonna be quiet for me?” Eve counters.

Villanelle nods and then verbally concedes. “Yes.”

Eve pets her lower back and lets out a delighted, yet surprised gasp when Villanelle wiggles her ass again. Something comes over Eve and she wishes she owned a strap.

“What do you want?” Eve asks.

“Your fingers!” Villanelle answers, without hesitation.

Eve smooths a hand over her ass. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“I want your fingers!” Villanelle tries, bowing her head down to the bed.

“Where, Villanelle?”

“ _In my pussy,_ ” and then “ _PLEASE,_ ” she yells out.

The yelling earns her three more slaps against her bottom.

“Don’t yell!” Eve hisses in a whisper, but then she rubs Villanelle through her pants. She explores, a bit, and a squeak from Villanelle lets her know when her fingertip rolls over the most sensitive spot.

Villanelle unbuttons her trousers and lets them fall, then yanks her underwear down to her knees.

“Jesus,” Eve whispers then rolls her finger over Villanelle’s clit, again, without the barrier of fabric. “You’re such a needy girl.”

Villanelle leans her weight into her arms, as they support her on the bed. She lets out little whining sounds as Eve strokes her clit.

Villanelle must be catching on, because then she whispers, “I need you inside.” And before Eve can ask, she clarifies, “—Inside my pussy.”

Eve sighs, “ _Oh_ ,” and gets lost in thought, for a moment. “You’re being so good for me, now.” She paws her way down Villanelle’s slit and asks, “Are you wet enough for me?”

She finds Villanelle is soaked, and Eve is so pleased that she bends over Villanelle to kiss the middle of her back while whispering praises. Then, she pushes two fingers inside.

Villanelle’s whines and moans are muffled by the duvet that she buries her face in. Eve rewards her quietness with a steady rhythm in and out.

It’s only when Eve adds the third finger that a louder moan escapes Villanelle’s mouth, as she turns her head to the side in bliss.

It’s _loud_. It’s too loud for the dorm.

Eve starts to tell her that she “needs to take it, quietly,” but Villanelle mutters a string of apologies, instead.

“I’ll be good—I-I’ll be quiet—please don’t stop!” and then, “You just feel so _good_!” Villanelle utters in high-pitched, whispered desperation.

“Shhh,” Eve soothes, working the third finger in . . . making room for it. “You didn’t mean to get too loud, did you?”

Villanelle shakes her head no. She is glad Eve knows she did not have bad intentions. She feels the stretch from Eve’s fingers and hitches her breathing on purpose to keep herself from crying out.

Eve rubs at her lower back, with her other hand. She feels Villanelle’s body accommodate the third finger, so she picks up the pace, again.

“What a good girl . . . so full,” Eve praises.

Villanelle can’t moan, can’t scream, can’t whine, can’t curse. So she starts to cry, a little bit. She is content. She whispers, “Yeah,” in acknowledgement of everything Eve is doing and saying.

As Eve starts pumping her fingers faster and faster, Villanelle gets close to coming. She moans into the duvet, muffling her voice with it, as much as possible.

It’s too loud. _Much_ too loud.

Eve ruins her orgasm, possibly unaware of how close she really was.

Villanelle’s legs shake and her pleasured tears turn to sad ones. Sad and _quiet_. If she is able to try again, soon, she will come fast.

Eve rubs all the way up and down her back, gently. “Only good girls get to come,” she reminds Villanelle. “Good girls are quiet, even when they come. They respect their peers. Are you going to be a good girl?”

Villanelle nods and cries and quietly begs “Yeah,” and “Please,” and “I _need_ to—”

Eve eases her three fingers back in.

Villanelle stops speaking, relieved, and keeps her eyes closed while she focuses on her breathing.

“Be a good girl and take care of your clit,” Eve instructs, quietly. ( _Always_ quietly . . . )

Villanelle snakes her right hand down in between her legs and rubs at her clit. She never thought she would be bent over and rubbing her own clit. In fact, just a few hours ago, all the girls she brought to her dorm were calling her “daddy.”

She doesn’t ponder it, too much. She just rubs her clit because she needs to be good and she needs to come.

“Good girl,” Eve acknowledges. And as Villanelle draws close, again, she instructs, “Just like that. Make yourself come.”

Villanelle mewls and Eve doesn’t want her to ruin it for herself, again.

“Shh, you’re getting loud. Keep your voice down, baby,” Eve says, gently.

Villanelle manages to keep her voice at a hushed volume while she whines and pants.

“You’re so fucking wet and desperate. Such a well-behaved, good girl. Come for me,” Eve husks in quiet demand.

Villanelle comes silently and bathes Eve’s hand in fluid.

After Villanelle comes down from the orgasm, Eve kneels under her.

Eve swipes her tongue through Villanelle’s folds and hums at the taste of her.

Villanelle moans because Eve’s tongue rolls over her still-sensitive clit.

“Baby,” Eve whispers, disappointed, “you don’t want me to have to waste all of this, do you?”

Villanelle shivers. “No,” she admits, defeated. She wants to be clean, and Eve’s tongue feels amazing.

Eve cleans Villanelle up while Villanelle holds her breath and keeps her eyes clamped shut. It’s only when Eve flicks her clit a few times in succession that her voice threatens to break loose in a scream. She doesn’t scream, luckily—but she _comes_ , again, unexpectedly.

“Eee-Eeeve!” Villanelle squeaks in a high-pitched whisper, trying to convey what’s happening.

Eve kisses Villanelle’s stomach and then stands up, pulling Villanelle upright, finally, too.

“Eve, I—”

“—Did you come, again?” Eve interrupts. She presses a kiss onto Villanelle’s cheek, close to her jaw.

Villanelle nods and eyes Eve’s wet fingers.

Eve reads her mind, presenting her fingers in front of Villanelle, so she can clean them.

“Would you like to do this again, sometime?” Eve asks her, changing the subject.

Villanelle hums at the taste of herself, then wipes her mouth, taking a break so she can speak.

“Yes, but . . .” she glances over at the bed while thinking. “I don’t want to be quiet. I want to be _good_ , still, but I want . . . I want to be _loud_ for you,” she explains.

Eve wiggles her fingers so that Villanelle will go back to licking them—which she does, immediately.

“You know what we could do?” Eve asks.

Villanelle hums and laps up her own stickiness, waiting for Eve’s idea.

“We could get a hotel, or something. We could fuck somewhere that _isn’t_ my dorm hall, where I am responsible for making sure that the students are safe, comfortable, and unbothered.”

A lightbulb goes off in Villanelle’s mind.

“ _Oh_ . . .” she ponders, subconsciously holding onto Eve’s wrist, while she takes another break and considers all of the possibilities.

“Yes, ‘ _Oh_ ,’” Eve agrees, smug and aware of how Villanelle is rethinking all of her behavior from earlier.


End file.
